The Darkblade chagrin

genus Malus mumbled in his sleep, lost to the foggy dreams that only a hard night of Clar Karond 's cheapest could bring forth. He was sprawled on silk sheet, an unusual luxury but one necessary for the preservation of what little saneness he retained ; after the chaos, and the struggle against said topsy-turvyness, of the sea-borne expeditiousness against the Skinriders, a scheme-riddled venture which had successfully claimed the life of his love Brother Bruglir but failed to deliver the heads of either Ovis vignei or Yasmir, after all that time on the cursed water supply, Malus needed a day or two of avowedly, virgin ease. He dozed on in this questionable material body house, still groggy but, after a piping bathroom, at least no longer grimy.

He did n't shift at all when the door to his private chamber opened and a hooded pattern slipped inside. The phantasm who 'd entered the room seemed to hesitate at the sight of the splayed-out highborn and cocked its head. Malus let out a cranky snore and muttered some ancient curse, giving the figure a start. The could-be assassin strode over to the silken bed and loomed over the man known as Darkblade. The hooded person began to ball up in the flexure of their cloak, perhaps rooting out some envenom dagger or some early arm of murder.

Malus groaned and suddenly thrashed out at some invisible enemy, then bolted upright piano, sweating. The shadow was taken by surprise and stumbled back, cursing in unison with the highborn. Malus'sleepyheaded centre widened in consternation at the lot of this intruder. He instinctively reached for his sword, but it was n't where he 'd left it. His wooden leg were already swinging out to arrive at contact with the ground as he prepared to exclaim for his retainers.

The figure threw back their hood. `` My Almighty, it 's me ! ``

Malus narrowed his eyes, the cry for Hauclir dying in his pharynx. The stagnant word still came out regardless, now edged with choler. `` Hauclir. '' It managed to be as much a question as a threat or a command. The highborn had become accustomed to employing all three tones at once with this damnable mercenary.

'' Aye, my lord. '' Hauclir gave a curt bow.

The highborn eased himself back onto his bed. It must accept been the time of day of the Hugo Wolf or there abouts ; this was no time to wake a resting noble. Facing the ceiling, where, to the pulp house 's credit, ok human peel had been hung from short hooks to spread over the brickwork, Malus addressed his retainer. `` What in the Dark Mother 's name are you doing in my chamber ? I expressly odered you to ward my door and leave me in pacification until dawn. ``

Hauclir grimaced, as if shy what to say. After a instant he cleared his pharynx. `` I brought the ... commodity you asked of me, my Godhead. ``

'' What trade good ? '' Malus barked.

'' You know ... '' Hauclir looked over his shoulder at the open door. He had n't thought to close it. `` The private commodity. ``

'' Speak clearly man ! ``

Hauclir took a mysterious breathing time. `` The lubricant. ``

Malus paled and craned his neck to look at his retainer. `` What did you say ? ``

'' The lubricant, my lord. '' The former master produced the vial from his gown. A clear liquid state glistened in a slight deoxyephedrine bottle, lit by the crackling sparkle of two low-burning brazier in the expensive chamber.

'' I did n't ask for any ... such matter. '' Malus swallowed hard. He had no memory of asking for such an indecent matter. Even with his capitulum still buzzing with boozing, he felt something stir oceanic abyss inside his body.

'' Perhaps my lord has drunk too practically of the mansion wine. You asked me not four hour ago. Told me you wanted the finest man spit. ``

genus Malus could experience sworn something was tickling him playfully beneath his ribs, slithering about his vital organs. His heatbeat quickened. Was the daemon playing some wrench trick. T'zarkan, he thought, what have you done ? The toper of Worlds could n't give representative to a reply courtesy to the alcohol coursing through the highborn 's scheme, so he let Malus know the answer in other ways.

The mother fucker son of Lurhan let out a gasp of pleasure as T'zarkan slowly built up pressure on his prostrate, tickling the internal workings of the Druchii genitalia. Malus felt his cock instantly indurate, and then go along to indurate, growing stronger than it ever had before. It was as if the fiend was teasing his member to grow, to stretch, to fill with malefic seed. Wracked with ho-hum waves of heavy joy, the highborn forgot all about Hauclir. His look became crimson. His cautious breathing gave way to wet panting. Lust and desire coursed through his sensual physical structure. The daemon sparked a sexual appetite that would deliver put a Slaaneshi priestess to dishonor. genus Malus needed an outlet. Something. Anything.

His hands raced down his bare chest, tweaking the nipples as they went, rubbing the whiteish skin, alighting nerves. When they came upon the leather covering his groin and leg, they set to play deftly untying tassels and loosening the garments. He could n't unfreeze himself from their tyrannous clutch quick enough. He tossed the pants away. There before him, towering up, much like the god of Kolkuth funnily enough, was his cock, a magnificent spire ready to loose clenched fist of raging semen. The cutis was as pale and luminescent as the rest of his increasingly corrupted form, though here imperial venous blood vessel throbbed just as hard as shameful ones. The pinkish tip swayed with each pump of blood. He knew on inherent aptitude that his hands would not be enough tonight.

It was now that he looked up, middle ablaze, and remembered that he was not alone. Hauclir remained there by the bed, his attention snag between the steaming drawers that had landed by his feet and by the grotesque actions of his Almighty. The retainer realized he was being watched, and began to back away slowly, afraid.

You 'll do, Malus thought, chuckling to himself. He rose to his knee joint, pointing his shaft at the hapless Hauclir. `` Close the doorway, '' he commanded.

Hauclir, with trembling hand, did as he was commanded.

'' Come finisher, my servant. '' The highborn 's Word of God slipped out, almost unbidden. Malus was n't just chuckling. He was laughing in his thinker. The hilarity spilled out and onto his lips. Hauclir eyed the man 's malicious smile with trepidation.

'' Good. Now, disrobe yourself for me. '' Malus'fountainhead was a theatre, and the audience was in uproar. His fragile spirit joined in with the poorly cheering.

'' That 's it. Now, open that vial, my unfermented Hauclir. '' genus Malus was in bother from the laughing. His costa had gone tight. The imaginary number audience was in outright chaos, standing, shouting, laughing, rioting with pleasure.

'' My lord ? '' Hauclir did as he was told. His face resembled that of a human striver brought before the sacrificial altar.

'' lubricant yourself. '' Malus enjoyed the frenzied revelry raging at the back of his head teacher. Forget the pleasance of the maraud. bury the joy of plotting. Forget all the power in the worldly concern. This was everything that mattered. How had he never thought to ask the daimon for giving with such ... delightful bit before ? He should have forced himself on Yasmir, given her a peter Bruglir could never hope to harden in his wildest of aspiration. Hell, even Ovis vignei. Fucking that misbegotten cripple would have put him in his seat. Malus'head swam with be sick thinking and untamed intimate conquest.

'' Like this ? '' Hauclir had applied some of the liquid state to his finger and daintily begun spreading it about his unwashed one-armed bandit. The whole thing was phantasmagoric, but a part of the retainer wished that he 'd had a tub prior to ... what his Almighty was about to do to him. He was no stranger to buggery ; when he 'd been ordered to ingratiate himself with Bruglir 's crowd on their hold up adventure, that had been something his tastes had been opened to. But with Malus ? Hauclir shuddered, his own fleshy phallus barely erect, cold with dread.

Malus roared like a hungry wolf. 'Yes ! Now bend, motley fool !'he wanted to say. The flames of desire showed him the image of a prostate Hauclir, his pink asshole puckered and afraid of the mighty pounding it was about to take.

But the highborn 's mouth did n't say 'Yes'. It said, `` No. Not like that. ``

Hauclir froze, trying to imagine what hellish torture awaited if this was n't what his lord wanted.

'' Lubricate your cock, beloved, costly Hauclir. '' Malus reeled at the actor's line springing from his tongue. What was he saying ? Suddenly his heart went taught. T'zarkan 's eel-like tendrils coiled nastily about him. What is this wile, Malus thought, challenging the daemon. T'zarkan, the hearing that had been laughing all along, was aching to explain, but first he continued to address Hauclir through genus Malus'rima oris. `` Now, penetrate your lord ! ``

With a dramatic flourish, Malus found himself fling his physical structure around, raising his lordly buttocks to Hauclir 's appalled face. `` fill me like one of your salty cabin boys ! ``

The servant crawled onto the bed, his face still a movie of double-dyed fright. He rubbed more of the lubricating substance about his manhood, then tipped what remained of the ampul into and around his lord 's anal passage as topper he could. With unwilling hands, he clasped genus Malus'waistline, and poked his half flaccid pecker into the rift. He let out a slight moan. Malus was mingy than any man he 'd had before, let alone a Druchii.

Locked in his own mind, Malus looked askance at the daemon, his desires having turned to horror. This could n't be really. This was worse than any nightmare he could possibly have.

Oh, it 's all real, said T'zarkan, the words coming in slithery rasps through genus Malus'auricle, over the sound of Hauclir 's noisy external respiration and the strait of his glob slapping about with each thrust. You were a fool, genus Malus, T'zarkan continued, to think you could drown me out with your alcoholic drink or your Druchii intermixture. The daimon savoured every mo of genus Malus'strong-arm pain and mental shrieking. I am your victor, the imbiber of Worlds intoned, and you will not forget that. You felt the true power I offered, the daimon pulled on the veins that ran through the highborn 's cock to illustrate his power point, the action giving a twinge of discomforting pleasure, but now you will receive an impossibly minor taste of the punishments that await all those who fail me !

***

Outside the bedchamber lurked another flesh, though this phantasma was zilch at all like the one which had slipped into the highborn 's room. This shadow was blacker than blacken, practically invisible to any who might luck upon it. Whereas Hauclir had cut a bumbling figure, this one was skilled to a deathly level. A true master of stealth. A dead on target bravo. The flesh house 's proprietor prided herself on affording her supporter rarely-paralleled discreetness and condom, but this intruder had slipped in completely undetected, and would splay out in much the like manner. In fact, this person had travelled all the way from Hag Graef, and such was their ability to stay on hide, that they were still believed to be right there, asleep, at this very second.

Arleth Vann left nix to chance when it came to genus Malus, the Druchii they believed to be the vaticinate bane. Malus had, as usual, proved troublesome to his architectural plan and decided to ride out away from the Hag for now, and so Arleth was practically obliged to progress to the aloofness and quietly steal upon his God Almighty, if only to chink up on the man and make certainly that the futurity noble of laying waste had come to no ill fortune. He had been pleased to see the highborn dependable and healthy, asleep on silk canvass and enjoying some residue. He could n't say the same of Hauclir, but he bore the belated improver to the family 's force no ill will. He had been about to forget, after making arrangements with some of the local anesthetic cultists to make his lord 's stay in this berth just a little more secure, when he 'd try ... well, the night 's frivolities.

The two men in the chamber yonder were still at it ; Arleth could hear it all : their cries, their moan, the creaking of the bed, the smacking sound of skin on skin, the slippery noise of lubricated penetration. It made him frown as repressed feelings of his own bubbled up about his sex-starved body. There had been no time for loveplay in the temple, and since he 'd left to get together up the true faith, only combat and the joy of killing had been on his brain. But this ... if the Lord of laying waste could featherbed in such acts, with the ilk of Hauclir no less, than perhaps his own pleasure was not something forbidden ...

As Malus was ridden hard by Hauclir inside, outside the room Arleth began to play with himself for the first prison term. He reached down into his flowing gown and tugged at his waking cock. The little heavy stump began to grow hard at his spot. He tried to remember how he 'd seen the whores and slaves pleasure each other. Before long, he was pumping and jerking away, letting out little moan of his own to follow those of his beloved high handmaid of Khaine.

***

Malus lay broken on the bed, the stench of sex heavy about his lithe body, and the bodily fluids of Hauclir splashed all about the tack. His own cock had gone off multiple clock time, adding to the wrong. The flesh house owner would be expecting a generous fee for the cleanup that her slaves would be required to perform the conform to morning. He was still lying there, lost in briny thoughts and the melancholy of one who 's been fucked against their will, as Hauclir hastily cast his robes about himself and began making for the room access. Despite the night 's hoyden being entirely at his God Almighty 's invitation, Hauclir felt dirty at what he 'd been party to, and had decided that the next path of action at law was to get a drink, a Bath, and then a female slave to assert his sexuality upon.

As the retainer made it to the door, praying all the while to the shadow mother that he 'd be allowed to allow for with his mind, Malus stopped him with five short words.

'' Hauclir. Never speak of this. ``

Hauclir nodded. `` Never my lord. '' He could n't face Malus. Instead, he left in ignominy, slipping out of the threshold. He remembered to conclude it this metre. As he left, he stood in a puddle of something vile on the ground. He looked down, cursing his luck. He stepped away from the alcove and over to a nearby rug, a richly woven thing. He wiped his bare foot on the rug, then scampered away. He needed that drunkenness badly.

Malus lay there, looking up at the flesh hook, party whip and Ernst Boris Chain dangling from the dark ceiling, refusing to let his oculus water from the infliction still throbbing about his keister. He 'd stand firm the cruel agony of Drachaus, Valkhaurs and his own sweet siblings ; he was n't about to dishonour himself with an expression of weakness before T'zarkan. He closed his middle. He would get retaliation. He had his hate. The daemon could n't engage that away from him. The daemon could only exhort Thomas More of it. And with hate, all things were possible .